


Jamais Vu

by ErisVanHelsing



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 03, Bad Cajun, Canon-Typical Violence, Fae & Fairies, Fae Will, I'm tempted to involve Dolarhyde at some point, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Multi, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Sort of-Character Death, Will was dead at the beginning so I don't know, powers, there's probably more - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-01-03 18:16:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12152139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErisVanHelsing/pseuds/ErisVanHelsing
Summary: He remembered nothing, was aware of nothing, and thought nothing. Slowly, he became aware of the world around him, as one does when they lay down in a half-dreaming state. There was a pressure on his senses, muting them. He attempted to open his eyes, but every attempt only pressed down further on the lids. He was forced to take deep breaths through his nose, expanding his lungs, and the very air felt oppressive. The feeling spread through her body and made his limbs heavy. Something cool and soft was under his head and his face gravitated towards it to bury itself amongst the sweet-smelling bedding. He needed to get up. He knew that he needed to get up. With a deep exhale, a hidden tension left his body and Will Graham cracked open his eyes.





	1. Ro-day

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by I Do Wander Everywhere by mokoyoubi and their fairy Will story. I wanted so badly to create a Will is a fairy story and so I created my own. Please read their work!
> 
> This is unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine. If anybody would like to beta my work, please let me know!

He remembered nothing, was aware of nothing, and thought nothing. Slowly, he became aware of the world around him, as one does when they lay down in a half-dreaming state. There was a pressure on his senses, muting them. He attempted to open his eyes, but every attempt only pressed down further on the lids. He was forced to take deep breaths through his nose, expanding his lungs, and the very air felt oppressive. The feeling spread through her body and made his limbs heavy. Something cool and soft was under his head and his face gravitated towards it to bury itself amongst the sweet-smelling bedding. He needed to get up. He knew that he needed to get up. With a deep exhale, a hidden tension left his body and Will Graham cracked open his eyes.

Cheap and peeling, mustard yellow wallpaper and a tan cracking ceiling greeted him. He was laying on a stiff mattress and hooked up to an IV drip. The fog of sleep continued to press on his senses, but he fought to keep himself awake. He sat up and moved to look around the room and his vision swam. The room spun around and Will dropped back down onto the make-shift bed with a groan, his name escaping him. The room smelled vaguely of strong perfume and the back of an old closet. This room was as familiar to him as his hands, even if he barely remembered it. It was like a memory clinging to your skull and you’re not sure if the memory is yours or belonged to a friend of yours. Will wasn’t sure if he had ever filled these spaces, but he hoped. The sweet sadness of childhood filled him. Perhaps it wasn’t even a memory, but a photograph seen in an old book, beloved enough to merge in the waking consciousness when it was poisoned by dreams.

His body hurt like it was being run over by a truck that would stop and then drive back over him again, but the anxiousness of staying in this false photography a moment longer overtook him. Will raised himself up from the bed and it shrieked with every jostle. “Loa!” came a call from the other room and a frail looking grandmother walked in the room carrying a tray with food on it. “You awake!” she yelled, which did nothing for his budding headache.

“Mamere?” Will asked. It had been years since he had seen the old Voodoo Queen from New Orleans. She was old when he was a child and had died during his time as a homicide detective, so what was she doing here? “But- you’re dead!”  
The woman had dark wrinkled skin with some spots from years spent in the sun. Her nails were cut short and kept clean and her eyes were a keen deep brown which held a glint of mischief. Frizzy gray hair was pulled into a small bun and she wore a tan peasant dress with green and red zigzag patterns on the cuffs of the sleeves and the hem of the dress. She smiled playfully, stretching her crow’s feet and laugh lines. “Me? Do I looka dead?” She looked more beautiful and wild than she had in life and definitely more alive than he probably did. The bandages covering his torso were being painted red by the opening wounds and he grimaced as the sight of his life’s paint dripping on the sheets.

“Non…”

She placed the tray near the cot’s side and pushed him back down on the bed; Rabe Hari was strong for an old, presumably dead-not-dead woman. The old woman proceeded to remove his bandages and quickly swath him in clean ones. She had him moving up and down during the whole process and it was dreadfully slow as she did not want him tearing the stitches. After his Mamere was content, she propped up the pillows and allowed him to lie back on them. The tray was moved from the side and into his lap where he found a savory broth and vegetables boiled down into an indistinguishable mush. If he wasn’t so hungry he wouldn’t have dared to touch it. Strange how spending just a month or so in the near-constant presence of Hannibal made it difficult to eat things he would have found more than passible before the man.

His stomach lurched and his almost coughed up the broth he was sipping. Hannibal… He had almost forgot how he ended up in this position. It was a good thing that he was propped up or he would have collapsed immediately. He wanted to sink into the pillows. Hannibal and Abigail. He left them for dead. They were dead. He remembered it. It had to be so. Sprays of blood hit his eyes behind their lids and he took a deep liquid-filled breath.

“I was dead.”

“You sho were.” His Mamere cackled softly. He opened one suspicious eye at the woman who was the closest thing he ever had to family. “Am I in hell?”

“Non cher. You back in New Awlins.”

“Really?”

“Nope, but it is some place between. Eat yo food before I make you.” Carefully, he picked up the spoon and began sipping the broth and steadily avoiding the vegetables. Rabe’s dark eyes followed his movements and her brow creased. “Why aren’t you eatin’? You used to eat as much as you could when you were just a Skinny Mullet. Aldough,” she nodded her head knowingly, “it took lotta convincing ta get you ta eat anything I made.”

“Dad said not to accept handouts.”

The sage nodded, “Alohrs pas. Why aren’t you eating my food?” Will shrugged and began placing the slimy vegetables in his mouth. It wasn’t pleasant and he was struck by how spoiled for texture he had been by Hannibal. He swallowed. “Why do I have to eat if we’re just somewhere in between?” She slapped down a spoon that he was pretty sure wasn’t in her hand prior. It startled him into pausing and a long moment passed before he began eating again. “Honestly,” Will began. “I preferred your dirty rice. Not that you would remember, vielle,” he smirked and Rabe made a disgusted noise. 

“Ungrateful couyon. I ain’t that old.” They smiled and she ruffled his curls. There was a long pause where the two of them said nothing before Rabe tapped his knee thrice to get his attention. A sly grin spread across her face. She leaned in extremely close and whispered, “I stole you.”

“You stole me? A dead woman stole me. Mamere, you may be a defan, but I’m not sure how you would manage to steal me from wherever I was. Even a sainted person can’t take someone from there prescribed afterlife,” he said drolly and waved his hand to indicate his general lack of idea of where the fuck this place was. “Regardless of whether or not there is one.”

The queen shrugged, “It wasn’t time for you ta die. You got more important things ta do. An’ it’s time ta go back.”

“Oh?”

“Yup, yo mama told me that you need to find him. Yo soul piece.”

His heart stopped. His mom had disappeared when he was young, too young to remember anything but blue eyes and soft hair. “My mother?”

She laughed. “Aw...Pauve ti bete, you gotta lotta learn, yeah. I’m not gonna tell you abo’ dat. I was axed not to. Mais dey gave me a friend to give you: A guide ta get you outta here and outta da U.S..”

“A guide?” A knock on the door broke through the still air in the room and the grandmother called for the intruder to enter the room. 

She waltzed in, fashionable black jeans, choker, and green-gray vinyl jacket being outshone by blue eyes, brown hair, and wind-chafed skin. Her ponytail was high enough that it didn’t manage to cover her missing ear and he could just barely see, if he looked hard enough, puckered and irritated scar running across her throat, right where Hannibal had slit it the last time Will had seen him. The right side of her mouth quirked up in an almost smile, so Hannibal that it hurt to see it. 

“Hello Will.”

“Hello Abigail.”


	2. Lasouf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey Will! How’d you sleep?” said the girl behind him. She once had wind-chafed skin, but now it was drained of blood, pale as snow. Unlike him, she was clothed, albeit in the outfit she died in. Seeing her in it made him grimace, but it didn’t stop the smile spreading across her face. “Like the dead?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't have a beta, but would also still like one.  
> I have limited experience with the interior FBI facilities, so please be patient with what are likely glaring mistakes in regards to the security of one.  
> Also, if you have more experience in Louisiana Creole and Cajun, please let me know!
> 
> Should I put major character death in the tags if Abigail already died?
> 
> Finally, this chapter was a lot shorter than I wanted, as my muse simply would not let me write the stupid scene. It took days for me to write the ending, because I just kept rewriting and writing. I'm going to aim for longer next time.

Waking up was hell. Really waking up this time, not the strange half-awake state that he was in in that in-between place, and with waking up came his full body screaming at him in pain. It really is rather strange; in the in-between he hurt, but it was clear now that it hurt like one does in dreaming: clear in the moment, but the pain seems unreal once removed. This pain felt real and it felt like he had been hit by a truck. Will grunted and attempted to rise from… an autopsy table.  
He blinked and glanced to his left. A second autopsy table was nearby and the person on it was covered with a sheet. He had a sheet too, but it was only covering part to preserve his dignity. It was... more than a little disconcerting. Carefully, he slid off the table, cautious of the creaks that accompanied every movement of his limbs. Will took a minute to wrap the sheet around his naked body and secure it to himself. The second autopsy table sat there still, mocking him with its existence. A trembling hand reached out and pulled up the corner of the sheet, revealing a very dead and decayed looking Abigail Hobbs. It shook harder and the sheet dropped from dead fingers.

“Hey Will! How’d you sleep?” said the girl behind him. She once had wind-chafed skin, but now it was drained of blood, pale as snow. Unlike him, she was clothed, albeit in the outfit she died in. Seeing her in it made him grimace, but it didn’t stop the smile spreading across her face. “Like the dead?”

“Where are we?” he asked, knowing full well that they were in the medical examiner’s office, but not wanting to admit it to himself. There were a lot of things that he didn’t want to admit to himself. The fact that he was alive and Abigail’s body was right in front of him for one, which seemed less and less real the more he spoke with her. She smiled indulgently at him and gently took his hand. “We need to leave before Zeller comes in,” she said and began moving towards the door.

They left the office, him trailing the sheet behind as she glided, barely coming in contact with the reality that had rejected her. She made an effort to steer him out of sight of the security cameras and he managed to avoid running into any security or nightshifters. It took a long time, far too long for his tastes, to notice that it was because there was nobody working at all. His feet were sore. “Why isn’t anyone here?” he asked. “Usually there’s always at least someone here.”

Abigail shrugged, “Your Mother asked the non-security staff to not be, at least until 6:00 am, thus the reason for us avoiding Zeller. Usually that would mean us just running to the where they keep the evidence, but I’d like to avoid cameras for the time-being; can’t affect all of them. The security is still here as people do notice when their asked to be gone. If you're going to play with someone's mind, it has to be believable and if all of the cameras suddenly shut off, someone is going to notice. Regardless, you’ve been pronounced dead; we want to keep that head start and make them think it was just someone stealing the body or something.”

“Or something?” Will asked, entertained by Abigail’s intentional vagueness.

“Considering that you were killed by ‘Hannibal the Cannibal’, I wouldn’t put it past them to think that he stole your body to eat it,” Abigail replied.

“Hannibal the Cannibal?”

“Frederick Chilton is already working on getting it copyrighted. He started the paperwork before they took him out of Jack Crawford’s version of WitPro.”

“How long has it been?”

Abigail shrugged. “A month I think. The powers that be had to influence them to take our bodies out of cold storage. Apparently, we were worth studying. That or Jack Crawford really doesn’t know how to let go. After this, they’ll probably bury me,” she paused. “I think that might be nice: to finally let go.” A quick glance towards himself. Not very subtle, Abigail.

They eventually arrive at the indoor junkyard of the evidence. There were mountains of small bags filled with dirt and dust, crusts of blood and bits of foliage. Potential and probably weapons were strange matryoshka dolls. Brown boxes filled with foam peanuts and among the peanuts, plastic cases which housed them.

Their stuff had long since gone. Not that he expected anything else. There wasn’t much anyone could glean off of his clothes besides the fact that he was in the rain prior, cut through the stomach, and bled a lot. To the incinerator. However, there were clothes hanging up in plastic bags in the room, including many of what he recognized as Hannibal’s suits. As tempting as it was (which was not at all), they would stand out far too much. A dark red and gray checkered suit doesn’t exactly spell out “laying low”. Really. Between his clothes and his home’s décor, someone should have been suspicious. He really didn’t have any right to judge though. He didn’t figure it out until it was too late.

Will managed to find some jeans and a black t-shirt. It was in a section reserved to evidence that was no longer relevant, so he didn’t feel guilty about taking it. There were a couple of suspicious stains on the jeans that looked a lot like blood. I’ll need to go to the laundry mat. There was, luckily, some cash. From the amount that was in it, he assumed something like a drug bust or some operation in that area. He pocketed what looked like around $750, and left the rest there.

The two snuck out as best they could, what with the cameras there, but all the exits were monitored by cameras and several over-worked security guard. Abigail gently touched his arm, which startled him out of his ruminating. “I can help you with the security guard.”

“You can?” She nodded. “Yeah.” Will squinted at the barely visible camera attached to the wall, red light blinking accusingly. “When did you say they would come back?”

“6:00 am. That’s in about….” here she paused. “It’s in roughly an hour.”

Will started to say something, but then Abigail glided through the doorway and stopped in front. All was quiet for a moment, then the cameras monitoring the exit began smoking. There was some noise coming from the security room in the previous hallway, which did not help his nerves. She ran over to him and grabbed his hand.

“You could do that the whole time?” he whispered harshly.

“One time use only, remember? Didn't want security to notice. Now, if you want to get out of here, concentrate.”

“On what?”

“How much you don’t want to be seen?” It was cryptic, sure, but it was also a feeling he had been intimately acquainted with for most of his life. Don’t be seen as a nuisance, don’t be seen by teachers or students. Don’t be seen as weak, but don’t be seen as a threat. 

Don’t.

Be.

Seen.

 

A door banging open could be heard from the previous hallway and footsteps echoed in his air around and in his skull. A well-built, but plain young man in a dark navy-blue security uniform walked right past them, as if they weren’t there. He went outside, propping open the door so he could still see the interior, even if he wasn’t paying attention, and stared despairingly at the smoking cameras. For a moment, Will thought that he had looked at them. The young man pulled out his phone and began sighing as he dialed. Abigail held on to his hand and he clutched back for balance as they inched past him. Will didn’t breathe. Toe-heel-toe-heel went his steps to prevent them from making any noise. His heart was so loud that he wasn’t sure how the security guard didn’t hear it. The nearly brushed past him to get through the doorway. Abigail started to go a bit faster, but his hold on her hand slowed her. Finally, once they were a good twenty yards away, he let go.


	3. De'pouille

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> De'pouille: anything or anyone that is a mess
> 
> Will gently shrugged. “I was planning to sail to Europe.”
> 
> “Ah. Moved down here to avoid a northern channel and the frontal systems?”
> 
> “Yup.”
> 
> Bert clapped him on the shoulder. “Be careful. I’ve sailed to Europe before. The frontal systems can still come this far south so you need to catch a good wind or it’ll get you off course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the really long wait. I've been stuck with writer's block for the last couple of weeks. I'm going to try and update for the last two weeks to put myself back on schedule. This chapter didn't turn out how I wanted. I mostly typed it out stream-of-consciousness.

The Nola was a small sloop that needed some… patching. There were some holes that were plugged up minutely and the finish was scuffed. It definitely needed new sails or at least patches. The man, named Bert, offering it was in his sixties and his son wasn’t much of a sailor. In fact, his son was a lawyer in Dixie with a nasty habit of ignoring his good old dad for months on end. Bert, himself, was the type of a person who woke up at 6 in the morning and proceeded to charge through his day. Apparently, he had been diagnosed with cancer, but that didn’t stop him from keeping a smile on his face. The only reason that he was selling the boat is because he can’t use it anymore. 

Despite that, he looked good. Wispy gray hair was flying everywhere in the light breeze. Bert had neglected to wear a hat despite the fact that he was bundled up in a winter coat, scarf, gloves, etc. Will often thought of it as funny that some people thought of Florida as purely The Sunshine State and never bothered to come down during the winter. Sure, there were places that stayed sunny most of the year round, but there were just as many where swimming in the water could result in hypothermia if one styed long enough and the wind would freeze your cheeks. Granted, global warming had made that less of an issue. The Nola, the boat that Bert was offering for an extremely low price, had its own tool kit and a few sparse furnishings. It was fine, he didn’t need a lot. Will sighed and paid the older man around $300 from the money that he grabbed and immediately began working on the boat. Bert hung around for a minute before asking, “Where are you sailing?”

Will gently shrugged. “I was planning to sail to Europe.”

“Ah. Moved down here to avoid a northern channel and the frontal systems?”

“Yup.”

Bert clapped him on the shoulder. “Be careful. I’ve sailed to Europe before. The frontal systems can still come this far south so you need to catch a good wind or it’ll get you off course. Make sure to have plenty of food and water just in case.” Will paused, suddenly curious. “How long will it take?”

Bert looked up at the sail and bit the inside of his cheek. “With a sloop this size? A month, maybe a little less. That’s if you don’t get caught in a storm of course. Would’ve been better to get a mono-hull. With that it would have only been two weeks, but it would need a bigger crew.”

Will nodded, the two basking in the camaraderie that came from being sailors before Bert shrugged and walked out. Abigail peeked around the corner and made her way back in. “That was nice of him to give us this boat for so little.” 

“It was.”

Abigail couldn’t touch anything, but she could look at places that he couldn’t reach. The two managed to make quick work of the boat. Well, it took several hours, but it could’ve taken a lot longer. It helped that the boat was dry docked. He worked on the engine and patched up the sails, letting his mind ride the waves of the ocean for hours, anticipating the future on the seas.

After they finished with the boat, the difficult part began. Will had managed to avoid cameras so far by keeping a baseball cap on and just avoiding places that had a lot of them. This was helped as he used a lot of older looking, rinky-dink gas stations. If only Hannibal could see me now, living off gas station food. There was some gear he still needed, including a small upgrade or two for the onboard toolkit -luckily, he saw a hardware store in town- and he needed to get enough supplies to last on the water for about a month and a half. He should honestly get more, but he didn’t have enough money for that. The boat had a couch with extra storage space, a tankless water heater, a small generator, a portable stove, and an ice box. Will grabbed his meager amount of money and headed into the town proper. 

The town was small and sleepy, for a Florida town. There hardware store was owned by a very sweet elderly couple. Will put on his best face and began negotiating. In an effort to try and be as accommodating as possible, especially when he lied and told him that he was moving into town, they actively negotiated him down. They did this while mentioning how handsome he was and how they had a very sweet daughter about his age. All-in-all, he managed to leave with more than he expected (including some very nice raingear) while spending less than he had anticipated. Then it came time for the food. 

He had already delivered his equipment and had gotten the boat ready when a teeny tiny voice inside decided to rear its rebellious head. It all began with the thought of Jack and how he must have started getting ready to charge around the country for, presumably, his dead body. Then came a very bad and satisfying idea.

Very clearly, it was one of those places that all of the blue and white collar workers in the United States came after 65. Of course, where there were old or low-income people in the South, there was a Wal-Mart. Will gleefully sauntered into the superstore, an amused Abigail following dutifully behind him. He spent several hours looking through the aisles for food and clothes, even trying some on, purposefully getting the cheapest he could, all while imagining the horrified look on Hannibal’s face. He practically pranced up to the counter with his mountain of cheap clothes, canned produce, and processed meat and sugars. Once he spent the last of his money, Will grinned and took the groceries down to the beat up pick-up that he had found waiting to be totaled. Making mischief was a strange pleasure on its own, he realized and whistled tunelessly to the backfiring of his appropriated vehicle.  
***  
About a week in, Will was bored. Really really bored.

The first week was a mess of establishing the route and avoiding the south-moving storm systems while moving towards the Caribbean and a much more peaceful southern channel. There was barely time to really feel comfortable, let alone let down his guard. Once he moved to the channel and course corrected to Europe, it became quiet. He estimated that he had about two and a half weeks left travelling the knot speed he currently was at. Finally, he had established a routine.

That was when the introspection began. Because really, with an imagination like his, introspection was easy. He just had to talk to Abigail

“What are you going to do when you get to Europe?” Ghosts are helpful.

Will sighed, rubbing his eyes to alleviate the pounding in his head that was being agitated by the sun, the salt, and Abigail. “I don’t know. You’re the one who told me I needed to find him.”

“Your mother told me that.” He looked up from where he had been lying down on the couch and stared at the ceiling. Its peeling gray paint agitated by the salt in the air. The boat had been going steady for an hour now and rocked gently back and forth with the current and the winds. He needed to go and adjust course. His body never moved.

“My mother?”

“Yes.”

The generator was turned off. Probably a good thing; he doesn’t want to use to much energy right now. The whole ice box thing was only helpful for the first week and was becoming gradually less helpful. It’s a good thing that he almost finished the perishable food.

“I thought she left me. I thought she died.”

“She didn’t. She’s sorry though, she didn’t think the situation through, otherwise she would have brought someone with her. Your mother didn’t expect to leave; that’s just how it turned out.”

He moved back and sat up to look at her. Abigail sat on the edge of the couch, still dressed in what she died in, blood splattering the side of her face and the edges of her green gray jacket. Will scowled.

“Didn’t mean to leave me alone at two-years-old in the woods? Should have prepared better? Yeah, I don’t quite get how simply apologizing is supposed to excuse blatantly terrible parenting.”

She scooted closer. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“Yeah,” he breathed out and relaxed each muscle in his shoulders. “I know.”  
***  
It stormed at the beginning of the third week. 

Thankfully, he wasn’t unprepared, but honestly it could have gone a lot better. It did not help that he had planned to have Abigail to help him and forgot that she was a ghost. This led to a very awkward sort of pause before he realized that he would have to do it all by himself. Is this real? He didn’t know. Having a dead pseudo-daughter reassuring you that you weren’t in purgatory and that you were actually sailing to Europe with her isn’t what he would call reassuring.

There was warning on the horizon. There was no plume of wind and darkness in the distance that signaled the storm ahead. Will had gone inside to grab some canned fruit and noticed absently that more water was on the deck then normal. Lightning struck and chaos followed after. The boat tipped back and forth with the growing waves and he scattered across the deck, pulling lines and managing the sail. The deck quickly became slick with water and he slid across it.

The sail jerked to the side and, once the wind had pulled back from the sails for a single second, Will closed them. He turned off the engine and began working to hunker down. With only one man managing it, he didn’t stand a chance of outrunning the storm, better to outwait it and get back on course in the morning.

The raindrops sparked in the sunlight and staring too hard at them hurt his eyes. Abigail stood in the center of the deck, unmoving in its violent swaying, and took it upon herself to function as a lookout. Finally, he moved below deck and as he dashed, he looked back to Abigail, a slim figure dressed in Green-Gray, Black, and Red.


	4. Ami

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will travels through the ocean to Europe and meets an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More or less writing this is going to be more sporadic. School is (and has been) murdering me. I'll try to update more often... It really doesn't help that I've been dealing with massive writer's block for this story and not in others. Probably the only thing I can force myself to write are session for the table top game I run (which is saying something).
> 
> Thank you guys so much for your patience! Again, if anyone would be willing to be a beta and kick my butt about this please do.
> 
> Ami- means friend

Will sat out on the deck, watching the stars. They seemed to twinkle and expand the longer he looked at them. Swirls of nature filled the night sky. “It’s beautiful,” came a voice beside him. Abigail had taken up the space beside him. She had been missing for a week, ever since the storm. How often had he imagined her beside him fishing, sometimes on a boat, sometimes not? It seemed odd for her to be here now; dead and not dead.

She smirked over at him. “Does it matter?

“Am I thinking that loud?” he asked, a faint sad smile gracing his face. 

“Yeah. Don’t worry though; we have a connection.” And if that just didn’t make his smile a little bit sadder. The two sat together on the deck, looking out over the ocean in an understanding kind of silence. The water was dark black interspaced with the white reflection of the moon, flashing its light on the deck and back on them. The water was largely still in the night, until he saw something break the water a bit further away. What is that?

A sleek dark body cut through the water. They watched as it twisted with the ocean and dove back under. It leaped from the water and blocked the moon. “What’s that?” Will asked, awed by the dancing figure.

“A selkie.”

He gave Abigail a dubious look that she shrugged off. “What? Ghosts can exist, but selkies can’t?”

“I suppose that makes sense,” he replied and went back to watching. The selkie continued to dance and began to circle around the ship. It disappeared for a moment and then shortly after the selkie peeked out onto the ship. Its dark brown head with near black spots peered over at the two of them and the whole body flopped up there. The seal shape began clumsily approaching the pair and Will watched as it changed. The water melted off its body and with it came the sleeked wet fur. Limbs elongated, and he heard a vague cracking sound that was reminiscent of breaking bone. When, at last, the fur and sea had melted away, a human was left in the seal-creature’s place. 

As a human, the selkie was very androgynous, even naked, and it wasn’t until he saw the genitalia that Will knew the selkie was male. He had trim shoulders that tapered down to his waist and long sleek black hair that went past his shoulders. The pelt was wrapped around the selkie’s shoulders and was swathed around him in a pattern that was more indecent than if he hadn’t been wearing it. He approached where the two sat, padding across the deck on silent feet, and Abigail abandoned Will once the creature was close enough. 

Startled at the sudden disappearance of Abigail, Will wasn’t paying attention to the selkie for a moment. That moment was enough. The selkie man did not stop until he was right into Will’s face, making him go very still. Will did not breath as the selkie stared at him with dark, almost black, cow eyes, before grinning crookedly and nuzzling his face. Before Will could even process what had happened, the selkie then turned swiftly and leaped into the ocean before swimming off. 

“What just happened?” Will asked, his face betraying his confusion. It was then that Abigail decided to return.

“A greeting. It’s not often that free selkie see one of their own. They’re largely solitary once they reach early adulthood until they find they’re family.”

Will’s nose scrunched up and brow wrinkled. “I’m a selkie?”

“No,” Abigail laughed. “But you are Fae and, thus, you are one of theirs. He recognized that you are young and naïve enough in your being that you have not identified with a faction yet, so he felt no concern about greeting you. Besides, he felt your power and knew it was a good idea to befriend you.”

"Power?"

"You're young for a Fae. That means potential. You're also important enough that someone worked to bring you back from the dead. That speaks to powerful friends."

"Who brought me back Abigail? You mentioned that my mother was involved, but..."

She shrugged. "I don't know. I'm dead Will, not omniscient."

***

They docked finally in Spain. The Nola needed gas and he needed rest, and get some food. He managed to pay for the ability to dock for a couple of days, but he needed to get a small odd job or two fast; he didn’t have any money.  
Gibraltar was strange, being an overseas British territory on the Iberian Peninsula. Granted, it helped that people understood English and he didn’t have to rely on his broken high school Spanish. There was a strange mix of people and culture that he was honestly not expecting, but, being a coastal town, it wasn’t hard to find someone with a broken boat engine (or car engine). The real issue was this: who was willing to pay him to fix their engine? He was a stranger.   
Luckily, he wasn’t charging much and eventually someone was willing to take a chance on him. Of course, he had to wait around in a boat shop for half the day, but the money was good. The proprietor of the shop even had him repair a few things for extra fuel and some parts for the repairs he need to make after the storm. He spent the night on the boat.

Of course, he wasn’t expecting the visit that he would get before they left.

It was on the last day when Will was out getting some food on the pier that Jack Crawford showed up.

It was in a modest little seafood shop. There were several just like it along the docks, but the boat shop owner recommended it as the best in the area; they actually caught their own fish. The owner was a pushy person with long brown hair, tan skin, and dark eyes that ran back and forth between patrons asking about the food, the weather, and the fishing season. They came up to his table a couple of times and asked how he felt about his Lavraki (it took him a minute to realize that they were talking about the sea bass he was eating). They quickly moved away when Will rebuffed repeated attempts to converse. A few minutes later, a person sat down across from him again.

“Sorry, I just don’t feel like- “

“Hello Will,” came Jack Crawford’s gruff voice. Will glanced in the voice’s direction.

The Jack Crawford before him was not the man that Will worked, lied, and died with. There was patchy stubble covering his chin and jaw; the salt and pepper fuzz was haphazardly trimmed and uneven. The fedora on his head barely hid that his hair had experienced much of the same treatment. Under his trench coat, rumpled khaki paints and a sweater were visible. He had dark circles under his eyes, eyes that were currently staring into and past Will.

“Hello Jack,” Will replied.

“You’re dead. I saw your body.” He didn’t exactly have anything to say to that. According to Abigail and his Mamere, he had died and not briefly. Not really.

“Yeah. I was.” Jack sighed, and Will suddenly wondered if the man thought he was going crazy. A vicious spike of pleasure shot through him at the thought. Jack deserved it after all the man had put him through. The man had pushed him and pushed him and made him doubt reality. Let Jack Crawford experience the same.

The two sat for a moment. Someone came over and took Jack’s order. A terse “I’ll have what he’s having,” made its way through his mouth. They jotted it down and walked over to the back.

It took a moment before either of them were willing to talk. Finally, when their food was brought over, Jack broke the silence. “You called him.” He almost asked “Which him?”, but that seemed too flippant. Neither of them needed to ask who him was. 

“I did,” Will replied. There was no point in denying it.

“You warned him.” 

A laugh flew from his mouth. “I did that too.”

Jack inhaled and exhaled heavily through his nostrils. “Why?”

Will shrugged. “Honestly, I didn’t call with the intention to warn him. Not completely at least. Part of me wanted to, I suppose. If there wasn’t at least part, then it never would have happened.” He paused. “While the phone rang, I deliberated. I hadn’t decided until he picked up.” The two stared for a moment, before Will’s stomach growled and he began to eat. Jack didn’t look away. “You’re food is going to get cold if you don’t eat,” Will had to say before Jack turned his head to his food. His hand moved and picked up the fork and began poking and prodding, making the motions of eating without actually bringing food to his mouth.

“Is this what it feels like to go crazy?” Jack whispered. Will almost didn’t hear it; it probably wasn’t meant for him.

“How do you imagine it felt for me? Something similar probably.” He couldn’t tell whether the feeling bubbling under his skin was anger or amusement. His shoulders trembled with the force of keeping himself from laughing in the face of the man he once considered a friend. Jack had done him a great wrong; that much was true, but the man had supported him in the end. Their eyes snapped together and Jack’s eyes widened. A hand reached under the table, probably for a gun, handcuffs, something (it didn’t really matter what). Will tensed his body to run, but suddenly Jack looked around dazed. He reached out a hand to Jack and touched his shoulder, causing Jack to startle and look towards the touch, but he didn’t seem to understand to root of it. Will slowly placed money on the table and slid from the seat before heading out of the restaurant.

Later, when he got back to the ship and set sail. Later, when Abigail returned and he was well on his way to North Italy. Only later did Will consider that the strange phenomena that happened to Jack might have been because of him.


End file.
